


Strobe Lights

by greysynonyms



Series: Detroit: Become Human Songfics [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Androids, At least as far as storyline, Bars, Connor being adorable, Dancing, Dpd, Drunkenness, Explicit Language, F/M, Future, Guns, Inappropriate Behavior, Jimmy's, Jukebox, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Canon Compliant, Original character is a creepy bar patron, Pining, Police officers, Protectiveness, Which is ancient technology at this point, homicide mention, pre-deviant connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greysynonyms/pseuds/greysynonyms
Summary: Because Hank Anderson would never dare dance without an unhealthy amount of booze involved.





	Strobe Lights

**Author's Note:**

> “You're a sweet talker, but darlin' whatcha gonna say now?”

       Your laughter fills the bar, strobe lights painting streaks of colors across your skin as you twirl across the dancefloor; your drink sloshes precariously with your movement and you’re quick to gulp more of it down to prevent any more liquor from spilling down your arm. You’re completely alone on the shoddy, dingy, wooden floor and you have been for about an hour--you had forced Hank to leave Jimmy’s because they didn’t have a dancefloor and you _needed_ to dance; he had said no right up until you started to crawl up onto the bar, and then he had dragged you out and down the street, grumbling under his breath the whole time.

       You lift your arms above your head, body rolling in uncoordinated waves to the beat of the song that’s blasting from the ancient jukebox the bar covets as it’s pièce de résistance--and, to be fair, it is pretty fucking cool. The other bar patrons thought it was amusing to watch you, at least at first, as you spun and twisted and danced all on your own, but slowly they lost interest and returned to their own drinks and their own conversations, and soon you’re feeling like having a partner to dance with would be more fun than dancing alone to old songs from old music videos you had seen online.

       You stumble your way back over to the bar, wedge yourself into the space between Connor and Hank’s bar stools--wait, how long had Connor been here? You’re pretty sure that the pretty-boy android wasn’t with you at Jimmy’s, and you’re pretty sure that he wasn’t with you when Hank first dragged you into this place either.

       “Good evening, detective (l/n),” Connor greets you politely.

       “Hiya, Connor,” you smile widely at him.

       Connor’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before shifting to Hank, “Detective (l/n)’s blood-alcohol content is registering at 0.167%, lieutenant. If she has another drink she may get sick, or black out.”

       “What the fuck do you think the point being here is?” Hank slurs, downing the rest of his drink and simultaneously calling the bartender over for a refill. “Don’t worry your little robot head, Connor, I’m keepin’ an eye on her.”

       “I cannot feel worry, lieutenant. I was simply informing you--”

       Hank waves his hand, cutting the android off. “Listen, I dunno why you showed up here, but if you’re even thinkin’ about dragging us outta here to go work on some shitty case, you’ve got another thing coming.”

       “A homicide was reported--”

       “Connor,” you say, tugging at the android’s silky tie and once again cutting off his sentence--you don’t miss the way his eyebrows twitch and his LED spins yellow briefly when it happens.

       “Yes, detective?”

       “Will you dance with me?”

       His LED flickers again, “I apologize, but I must decline. My model was not built for leisure activities such as dancing.”

       Hank snorts a laugh around his next sip of whiskey. “You hear that, (y/n)? That’s the best damn excuse not to dance I’ve ever heard.”

       You push out your bottom lip in a pout and release the android, “Fine, didn’t wanna dance with you anyway.” You turn to Hank, cheeks flushed and smile wide and dopey. “You come dance with me then.”

       The lieutenant turns to you with an incredulous expression, eyebrow arched high. “With these old bones? What? You want me to break a hip?” He waves you off as if you’re nothing but an annoying fly, “Go find someone else to bother, alright? Fucking Connor is killing my buzz enough as is.”

       You push closer into Hank’s personal space, shoving your head under his arm and all but crawling into his lap as he moves to set his drink down; he sputters and laughs because he can’t help it, because then you’re looking up at him with the widest eyes you can manage and whining a drunken and pathetic “Pleeeeease?”

       “Hey, hey, careful!” Hank hollers through his laughter.

       “Pretty please, Hank?” you bat your eyelashes at him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and tug until he’s stumbling off his seat, and you’re sure that the weight of his body would have knocked both of you over had Connor not so helpfully caught you. You tilt your head back to give the android a big grin, “Thanks, Connor.”

       “You’re welcome, detective,” he nods.

       Hank grabs your arms and unwraps you from himself so that he can properly stand. He looks down at you and the stupid smile on your face and he can’t help but smile back, “Fine, fine, but only one song, and only cause you asked so sweetly.”

       “Oh, is that all it takes?” you giggle. “I’ll have to start sweet-talking you all the time, then.” You grab the lieutenant’s rough hand, intertwine your fingers with his to assure he’s not going anywhere, and begin dragging him towards the still-empty dancefloor. Your sight is beginning to get blurry around the edges but you can see that Hank’s face is pleasantly flushed and that the scowl he usually wears throughout the day has vanished--it makes you smile that much wider. “Connor, you’re welcome to join us if you decide to!” you call over your shoulder, but then you yelp when a strong arm circles your waist from behind and you’re pulled into a wide, solid, very not-Hank chest.

       “Hey, darlin’, why don’t you forget the old man and spend the rest of the night with me?” a voice whispers close to your ear, slurred and smelling strongly of booze. The arm tightens around you as he pushes his hips close to your ass and gyrates in a slow circle that makes you feel as though your last drink might come back up.

       “Um, sorry but I--”

       “Look here, buddy,” Hank interrupts, jamming a finger into the intruders chest pointedly. “The lady is with me.” His other hand is still wrapped securely around yours, but when he tries to pull you free he’s met with resistance as the unwanted patron refuses to let you go.

       Your heartbeat stutters against your ribcage, muddled mind focused solely on Hank’s words and nearly forgetting about your predicament. Your head rolls back to rest against the man’s chest, “Did you hear that? He said I’m with him.”

       “Yeah, well not for long, sweetheart,” comes the reply.

       You frown deeply at that, because no--no, you don’t like that idea at all; you want to be with Hank, always. Without really thinking too much about it you raise up a leg and jam the heel of your stiletto into his foot. The man shouts in pain and releases you as he scrambles to take off his shoe and assess the damage; before you can even think to turn around and reprimand him for his inappropriate behavior, you’re pulled into Hank’s embrace, his arm fitting snugly around your waist as he carefully begins to back away from the scene.

       “You bitch!” the guy hisses, balancing most of his weight on one foot as he stands back to his full height. “You’re gonna fucking pay for that!” He takes two steps forward and then halts in his tracks.

       “Carl Bronson, age thirty-six, two counts of domestic abuse, three counts of public indecency, two DUIs,” Connor rattles off matter-o-factly. “I suggest you leave before I add to your records.”

       You turn your head enough to see Connor with a gun raised and pointed at the man’s head, expression stoic. “That’s right!” you shout encouragingly, digging into your back pocket and pulling out your badge. You flash it in the guys face and laugh triumphantly, “You didn’t think we were cops did ya’, motherfucker!”

       “Detective, I regret to inform you that you are not currently holding your badge,” Connor points out.

       Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes focus on what’s in your hand--a wad of receipts, definitely not your badge; in fact, you’re pretty sure Hank made you leave your badge in the car--probably because of that one night when you had a few drinks too many and started threatening to arrest everyone who wouldn’t buy you a shot.

       Hank shakes his head, arm still encompassing you protectively. “You’re such an idiot.”

       You stuff the wad of papers back into your pocket and drape your arms over Hank’s shoulders. “Maybe, but you still keep me around.” You begin to sway back and forth and, to your surprise, Hank moves right along with you.

       “Not my fault Captain Fowler forces me to look after you, kid,” the lieutenant says, lifting your arm above your head and spinning you in a circle before tugging you back to his chest. His gaze leaves you momentarily to find Connor, “Take care of this asshole, would ya?”

       “Got it,” Connor nods.

       You don’t really hear the sounds of the struggle as Connor forces the man to leave the bar, you don’t really hear the threats being shouted at you and Hank, you barely hear the sound of the song you’re dancing to around the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You lean your head against Hank’s shoulder contentedly and you can faintly hear his heartbeat. “You're a pretty okay dancer, Hank.”

       He hugs you just a little tighter, “You're not bad yourself, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on "Dancing's Not a Crime" by Panic! at the Disco.
> 
> I love Pray for the Wicked so much. Oh, and also Hank Anderson.


End file.
